Chapter 192

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Zhang Xiaohua scoffed: “How can a monk haggle so much? Truly, not an ounce of the composure one would expect.”

Yuan Kong ignored the remark and instead asked whether Zhang Xiaohua agreed to the terms. Zhang Xiaohua thought to himself: “Only read it once? Fine. When the time comes, I’ll take my time, studying each page as if my life depended on it. Let’s see what he’ll do then.”

Feigning annoyance, Zhang Xiaohua loudly declared: “Fine! Just one read, but I’ll flip through it myself.”

Yuan Kong, suspecting nothing, agreed readily.

With the agreement in place, Zhang Xiaohua assumed a stance, signaling his readiness, but Yuan Kong did not move.

Confused, Zhang Xiaohua asked: “Young Master, we’ve settled the terms. Why aren’t you making your move?”

Frowning, Yuan Kong replied: “We’ve spent all this time discussing what happens if you win. But what about if I win? What will you do?”

Zhang Xiaohua grinned mischievously and said: “If you win, I’ll just jump off the platform.”

Yuan Kong shook his head. “That’s too easy for you. It’s not acceptable.”

Seeing Yuan Kong stalling again, Zhang Xiaohua joked: “Alright then, take your time to think it over. Meanwhile, I’ll head down to grab a bite to eat. We can count this as my loss.”

As Zhang Xiaohua turned to leave, Yuan Kong panicked and quickly stopped him. “No, no! Forget about a bet on your side, okay?”

Only then did Zhang Xiaohua pause and say with a sly smile: “Oh, you Monk, I know you just want to teach me a lesson and vent for your junior brother. I only came up here out of respect for you and Dalin Temple, so stop dragging this out and start already—I’m in a hurry!”

Zhang Xiaohua knew that Yuan Kong was intent on restoring Dalin Temple’s honor and was confident he could beat him. Using this to his advantage, Zhang Xiaohua continued to negotiate, poking at Yuan Kong’s soft spot and forcing him to compromise again and again.

Zhang Xiaohua had thought it through—he was just a farmhand from Huanxi Villa with no formal martial arts training. Even if he lost, there wasn’t much pride to be concerned about. After all, hadn’t he already lost face plenty of times before? What difference would one more time make?

On the platform, the conversation between Zhang Xiaohua and Yuan Kong wasn’t loud, but those standing nearby could hear it clearly, many struggling to suppress their laughter. “This guy is truly shameless,” they thought. Those further away, such as Ou Peng and the other leaders, couldn’t make out what was being said and were left puzzled. However, no one in the crowd, including Zhang Xiaohu, held any expectations for Zhang Xiaohua. Even if he was a genius, how long had he been practicing martial arts? He had barely scraped through the Second Cloth-Robe Level challenge earlier, while Yuan Kong had effortlessly defeated someone at the Third Cloth-Robe Level.

Precisely because of this disparity, the crowd relaxed, treating the upcoming match as a comedic sideshow.

On the platform, Yuan Kong brought his palms together and bowed. “This humble monk, Yuan Kong of Dalin Temple, seeks your guidance.”

Zhang Xiaohua clasped his fists, bowed in return, and replied: “I am Zhang Xiaohua of Huanxi Villa. Please advise me.”

With the formalities complete, the two assumed their stances. With a shout, they stepped forward, their fists and palms colliding as the match began.

The little monk Yuan Kong had learned from Yuan Liao’s mistake. He immediately unleashed his signature technique—the Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm. This secret martial art of Dalin Temple was paired with an advanced internal cultivation method that had nine levels. Each level doubled the practitioner’s inner force. It was said that upon mastering the ninth level, one truly possessed the strength to subdue demons, becoming nearly invincible in the Jianghu. Every Dalin Temple’s master who reached the ninth level was renowned in the martial world. Yuan Kong, having trained in this internal method from the start, had reached the third level, making him highly regarded among the younger disciples of Dalin Temple.

The Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm was extremely powerful, and Yuan Kong, with his high opinion of himself, hadn’t even needed to use it in his earlier match to secure victory. This time, however, he was furious with Zhang Xiaohua, and so he began the match with his most powerful technique.

In Yuan Kong’s mind, his Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm was far beyond what a country bumpkin like Zhang Xiaohua could handle. He was confident that with one strike, the inner force concealed within his palm would send Zhang Xiaohua flying several meters, perhaps even knocking him clean off the platform—an impressive demonstration of his superior power.

Yet to his surprise, when their fists and palms met, both felt a tremendous force from the other’s hand. A dull “bang” echoed across the platform. Yuan Kong stood firm, unmoving, while Zhang Xiaohua staggered back three steps. Both wore expressions of surprise, quickly followed by delight. Without hesitation, they lunged forward again, fists and palms colliding as the battle resumed.

This duel on the platform was unlike any other. Typically, competitors on such stages focused heavily on winning, carefully strategizing and deploying tactics to exploit their strengths and avoid their weaknesses. However, this match was entirely different. One combatant, Yuan Kong, was far superior in skill but fought without any trace of arrogance, unleashing his full power in both his palm strikes and internal force. The other, Zhang Xiaohua, cared little about victory or defeat, let alone strategy, and fought with an almost carefree attitude, avoiding all-out attacks.

As a result, the match turned into a series of explosive, head-on clashes. The sounds of their strikes, “bang, bang, bang”, echoed across the platform as they exchanged blows without restraint, a ferocity that stunned the audience.

Earlier, Zhang Xiaohu’s match with Yuan Xing had concluded in a draw, salvaging some face for the Piaomiao Sect. However, everyone knew that Zhang Xiaohu had been on the defensive for most of the match, barely able to counterattack. Furthermore, the lack of internal force in their fight, while visually impressive, lacked the raw power and intensity that the hot-blooded young disciples were used to. While the draw brought them joy, it lacked the thrill and passion they craved.

Now, as they watched this fearless young man, Zhang Xiaohua—who had just kicked a dashing young monk off the platform—step up to face Yuan Kong, a tough and burly monk who had effortlessly defeated their senior brother earlier, they couldn’t help but admire his courage. What made them most excited was that this brother, the moment he stepped onto the platform, engaged in a head-on clash with the opponent. This kind of fighting style immediately ignited the passion in the blood of the young spectators. Their bloodshot eyes fixed on Zhang Xiaohua, who was continuously throwing punches on the stage, and they instantly found him incredibly pleasing to watch. What is this? A warrior! Calling him ‘brother’ truly felt so fitting.

Someone in the crowd shouted: “Brother, keep it up! Brother, go strong!”

The rest of the disciples echoed the call, and soon the chant of “Go strong!” roared through the plaza, shaking the air outside the assembly hall.

At that moment, Ou Peng, the Sect Leader, stood among the noise. If Zhang Xiaohu’s earlier draw with Yuan Xing had filled him with surprise, Zhang Xiaohua’s performance now left him utterly astounded. To be fair, Zhang Xiaohu’s match, while unexpected and impressive, was ultimately a battle of techniques without the use of internal force. Such matches revealed a person’s raw aptitude and theoretical understanding of martial arts. From a scholar’s perspective, it was like academic research: promising in theory, but with no guarantee of practical success. Without the enhancement of internal force, martial techniques were mere flashy displays—fragile castles in the air that could crumble under even the slightest application of true power. Monk Changgeng’s earlier remarks about Yuan Xing’s “special” strength underscored this point.

But today was undoubtedly a day of triumph for the Zhang brothers. For the Piaomiao Sect, their performances were nothing short of a revelation. Deep in his heart, Ou Peng couldn’t help but wonder: “One surprise after another—how many more surprises can these Zhang brothers bring me?”

Ou Peng had previously heard a bit about Zhang Xiaohua from his sister, such as his astonishing arm strength. However, to someone like Ou Peng, who had encountered countless exceptional talents, this wasn’t particularly impressive. Take Tang Shi from the Young Eagle Hall, for instance—his strength was at least on par with, if not greater than, Zhang Xiaohua’s. Moreover, such strength often came from rigorous training and the use of medicinal herbs. While Zhang Xiaohua indeed possessed some natural power, without a solid foundation, his future progress would inevitably be limited.

Thus, Ou Peng had never thought much of Zhang Xiaohua before. Yet, in today’s match, he noticed that Zhang Xiaohua’s strength seemed far greater than what had been described. Either the reports had been inaccurate, or Zhang Xiaohua’s arm strength had significantly increased. Naturally, Ou Peng was inclined to believe the former. He was not naive enough to think that in just a few months, Zhang Xiaohua could drastically improve his strength without the aid of medicinal herbal supplements.

Even so, despite having little expectation for this inherently unfair match, the intense, head-to-head confrontation between Zhang Xiaohua and Yuan Kong in the opening moments left Ou Peng deeply astonished.

He smiled and remarked to Monk Changgeng: “Congratulations, Elder. It’s clear that Little Master Yuan Kong’s Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm has reached the third or even fourth level. To achieve such a high level of mastery at such a young age, he is destined to become a dazzling star in the Jianghu.”

Monk Changgeng, delighted by the praise, could hardly contain his smile. His visit to the Piaomiao Sect had been, in part, a demonstration of the Law Enforcement Hall’s strength—a calculated move to put Ou Peng in his place. It was revenge for the Piaomiao Sect seizing the Luo River Gang ahead of Dalin Temple’s plans, causing the Law Enforcement Hall’s carefully laid schemes to collapse like a house of cards. However, this was strictly about the Law Enforcement Hall’s prestige being slighted, not Dalin Temple’s as a whole. Otherwise, the disciples they sent here wouldn’t have been of this caliber. Instead of sending low-level disciples to disrupt the martial arts tournament, they would have sent elite disciples to compete directly against the Piaomiao Sect’s core members.

That said, if such a scenario had occurred, how would Zhang Xiaohua and Zhang Xiaohu have had any chance to set up a stage for their personal displays of martial prowess?

Monk Changgeng graciously accepted Ou Peng’s flattery and returned the favor with a hint of sarcasm: “Your Piaomiao Sect disciple isn’t bad either. Although he doesn’t understand inner force, he has remarkable natural divine strength. Combined with this hodgepodge of techniques, he’s managed to hold his ground against Yuan Kong—truly surprising. But his martial arts are peculiar. Look at this: instead of properly executing the moves of the Six Harmonies Fist, he twists them slightly. And his footwork—it seems to borrow from the Tan Family style, yet it also resembles our Dalin Temple’s Peacock Spreads Its Tail. Ah, look, here’s another move—it’s vaguely similar to a technique from the Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm. What sort of martial art is this? Sect Master Ou, how do you teach your disciples? I wasn’t aware your sect had this kind of style.”

Ou Peng’s mind stirred at this remark. He was already aware of Zhang Xiaohua’s habit of piecing together techniques from various sources, which he had previously dismissed as a sign of poor aptitude. But now, hearing Monk Changgeng’s observations, he began to pay closer attention. His curiosity piqued, Ou Peng watched Zhang Xiaohua’s movements intently, even failing to notice Monk Changgeng’s question.

Seeing Ou Peng’s apparent disregard, Monk Changgeng felt slightly offended, secretly cursing him before turning his focus back to the match on the platform.

As for Xiaohua, luck seemed to be on his side. If he had encountered Yuan Kong a few days earlier, he would have been thoroughly defeated within a few moves. However, his recent string of battles had tempered his Big Dipper Divine Fist, and now his fighting spirit was at its peak. Far from being intimidated, Zhang Xiaohua eagerly sought to refine his beloved Big Dipper Divine Fist against a worthy opponent. In just half a meal’s time, the match had reached a stalemate, with neither side gaining the upper hand.

That said, there were differences between the two fighters. Zhang Xiaohua had given his all, leaving no reserves, not that he had much to hold back. Yuan Kong, on the other hand, was merely using his favorite techniques, keeping many of his trump cards in reserve.

Sure enough, seeing that his Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm hadn’t succeeded, Yuan Kong began considering other methods. Acupoint striking—this was the first thing that came to Yuan Kong’s mind. Not only because acupoint striking is an advanced martial art that few low-level disciples understand, making it a deadly weapon when used, but also because Yuan Liao had lost the upper hand precisely in this area earlier. If Yuan Kong could defeat Zhang Xiaohua using acupoint striking, it would do even more to restore the Dalin Temple’s lost honor.

With this thought, Yuan Kong withdrew his palm technique and switched to the Dalin Temple’s commonly used martial art, Silken Restraint and Capture Hand. Though the power of this technique was mediocre, its advantage lay in its short and quick moves, as elusive as an antelope hanging its horns, almost impossible to trace. However, Zhang Xiaohua was no longer the same as before—how could he let Yuan Kong get close? The last time, Yuan Liao had caught him off guard, but in a proper duel, how could he possibly allow Yuan Kong to strike all 36 of his major acupoints directly?

After exchanging blows for another round, Yuan Kong feigned a slight opening. Zhang Xiaohua was overjoyed in his heart, stepping forward to throw a punch. However, Yuan Kong had been prepared all along. With a nimble flip in midair, he vaulted over Zhang Xiaohua’s head. Zhang Xiaohua raised his hand skyward, but Yuan Kong’s Qinggong was truly exceptional. He had already leaped away, and while in midair, his fingers darted like lightning, striking three acupoints on Zhang Xiaohua’s neck in quick succession: “Pa! Pa! Pa!” If it were any other opponent, they would have collapsed to the ground, rendered completely helpless at his mercy. However having learned from Yuan Liao’s earlier failure, Yuan Kong did not fully trust his own success. His figure retreated as he moved to leap out of the danger zone.

Sure enough, Zhang Xiaohua didn’t collapse as Yuan Kong had expected. Instead, he raised his hand to strike upward and, with a spin, swung his left foot in midair toward Yuan Kong’s two fingers. Seeing this, Yuan Kong was both shocked and pleased. He was shocked because his acupoint strike hadn’t worked on Zhang Xiaohua—why was that? Was it because his targeting of the acupoints wasn’t accurate? Or had Zhang Xiaohua trained in some form of external hard qi technique, like Iron Shirt? But even if Zhang Xiaohua had practiced such a technique, at his young age, he couldn’t have mastered it to such a degree. How could he not fear his acupoint strike? Moreover, this rascal had supposedly claimed that he didn’t even know how to practice internal energy. Could this have been a deliberate ploy to mislead others? Yuan Kong was pleased, however, because as Zhang Xiaohua’s left foot kicked toward him, the Yongquan Acupoint on the sole of his foot was perfectly exposed, as if being offered up to him. The Yongquan, being a major acupoint, if struck, would not only disrupt Zhang Xiaohua’s internal energy—oh, right, this rascal supposedly has no internal energy—but at the very least, it could temporarily disable him.

As Yuan Kong debated whether to take this critical opportunity to strike, Zhang Xiaohua’s vigorous kick was already upon him, the sole of his foot squarely in Yuan Kong’s face. Yuan Kong reflexively extended his fingers to counter, using his full strength.

However, once again, reality defied Yuan Kong’s expectations. Despite his fingers being infused with inner energy, they were still merely fingers, not fists. When they met the sole of Zhang Xiaohua’s foot—precisely at the Yongquan Acupoint—it felt as though he had struck an iron plate. A surge of intense pain shot through Yuan Kong’s fingers. He inhaled sharply, quickly retracting his right arm. Using strength from his feet, he executed a graceful “Crossing the River on a Reed” maneuver, drifting to the edge of the stage before cautiously examining his fingers.

To his dismay, both fingers were already reddened and throbbing with unbearable pain. It was evident they were on the verge of swelling.

Zhang Xiaohua saw Yuan Kong leap to the side but didn’t pursue him. Instead, he felt puzzled in his heart. Why do this rough, dark little monk and that pale, refined one share the same strange habit? Both love poking people with their fingers for no reason. Isn’t it odd? Last time, that other monk poked me more than thirty times and ended up standing there dumbfounded, waiting for me to kick his butt. Now, this monk is at it again—not only poking my neck but also, as if not satisfied, trying to poke at my stinky foot. What’s with this peculiar behavior? As far as I recall, the only people in Guo Village who use their fingers like this are the shrews when they argue. But even they only jab at each other’s faces, not all over the body like these monks. Could this be some kind of progress?

No wonder the ancients said, “Monks and women are equally hard to manage”. This must be what they meant.

Yuan Kong was utterly shocked at his failed acupoint strike—not just mentally but physically as well. What kind of martial art has Zhang Xiaohua been practicing? His entire body feels like iron, immune to acupoint strikes. Maybe when my Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm reaches the ninth level, I’ll be able to channel inner energy, penetrate his acupoints, and finally strike him successfully.

As Yuan Kong was still reeling in shock, Zhang Xiaohua opened his mouth and said: “Little Monk Yuan Kong, your fingers are injured. Why don’t you bandage them quickly? Otherwise, you might end up with lasting damage. In the future, you might not even be able to hold chopsticks properly. Imagine not being able to pick up fatty pork slices—that’d be tragic.”

Yuan Kong, initially shocked, became furious upon hearing this. He exclaimed: “Amitabha! Zhang Xiaohua, stop spouting nonsense! A monk does not eat meat. We only eat vegetarian food.”

Hearing this, Zhang Xiaohua stuck out his tongue and realized he had made a blunder. Bowing, he said: “Please don’t take offense, young master. I was wrong and forgot about that. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Yuan Kong waved his uninjured hand and said: “Forget it, forget it.”

Zhang Xiaohua replied: “No, we can’t just forget it. As an apology, I’ll give you some time to deal with your fingers. Once you’re ready, we can continue our match.”

Hearing this, Yuan Kong smiled and said: “Thank you, little benefactor.”

He was about to take out the secret healing ointment from Dalin Temple when Zhang Xiaohua muttered under his breath: “Fatty pork really is delicious. These little monks truly miss out.”

Yuan Kong heard this and, with a resounding “thud”, fell to the ground, almost fainting on the spot. Fortunately, he was still some distance from the edge of the arena; otherwise, Zhang Xiaohua would have claimed victory without even needing to fight.

At this moment, the Piaomiao Sect’s Sect Master Ou seemed entirely oblivious to the entertaining farce unfolding before him. Instead, he was deeply furrowing his brows, as though pondering something serious.

PS: The pit remains unfilled. However, if you’ve read this far and still haven’t figured out which pit it is, well… there’s really no excuse now, is there?